


Promise

by Cookabeara



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookabeara/pseuds/Cookabeara
Summary: After the scare of nearly losing her, Bernadetta realizes Petra is the one she wants to share her future with.
Relationships: Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Promise

Death was inevitable in war; they all knew that too well. She’d watched men and women under her command die, and on a particularly bad night it was thoughts like that which kept her awake. However, they were mostly faces she was unable to put a name to. She was also well aware that those who died could easily _be_ faces that did have names, but it was easy to convince herself that it wouldn’t happen. 

That was what made the body she stumbled upon more sickening than any she had before. She swallowed the fluid that had churned up from her stomach, feeling it burn in her throat as the world spun around her.

Carefully, she knelt beside her motionless comrade. Her gloves and knees became stained and smeared with blood — whose, she couldn’t be sure — as she reached a shaky hand over the woman’s face to turn it towards her. Petra’s eyes were shut, almost serenely, and Bernadetta felt her own sting with the tears that blurred her vision. Refusing to accept what her brain was telling her, she dropped down to press an ear to Petra’s chest.

The relief she felt wash over her at the sound of a heartbeat only lasted a moment. Still, it was enough to kick her into action. Using what magic she remembered from those faith lessons back in her academy days, Bernadetta did her damndest to bring Petra back from the brink.

She was no Linhardt; her magic lacked the ability to correct the sickening bend in Petra’s arm or fully take care of the oozing gash in her side. Still, she could tell that there was more life in the woman’s face — warmth in her cheeks, slight movement behind her eyelids — than there had been when she had found her.

Now that the adrenaline had eased slightly, Bernadetta didn’t bother damming her sobs. For the moment, she didn’t give any mind to her surroundings. The battle was over. As she cried, she let her aching body collapse beside Petra’s.

She barely remembered what happened after that. There were flashes of recollection: being pulled off of her, screaming and trying to fight her way back, Dorothea’s sobs in her ear as she tried to comfort her…

She must have cried herself to sleep in Dorothea’s arms, because when she woke up she found herself in her own room, unable to recall getting there. It must have been Dorothea who tended to her as well, because she found herself in her underwear without a spot of blood in sight.

Once she had her bearings (though reality still felt hazy, like she was wading through a dream), Bernadetta could only think of Petra. In a panicked hurry, Bernadetta threw on the first set of clean clothes she could find and bolted from her room.

She ignored whoever called her name — Ferdinand? It may have sounded like Ferdinand — as she ran to the infirmary, tears already streaming down her cheeks.

She stumbled in, barely paying Manuela’s presence any mind in her fit of tunnel-vision. Practically throwing herself across the room, Bernadetta dropped beside the bed Petra rested on. Her arm was no longer bending or bulging in ways that made Bernadetta gag; instead it rested across her body in a sling to hold it in place as it healed. Her abdomen was wrapped in bandages, hiding the gaping wound that Bernadetta remembered too vividly.

It was like waking up from a nightmare. Shaken, speechless, and trying not to cry (it was too exhausting at that point), Bernadetta rested her head on the mattress. She shut her eyes, letting herself be comforted by the warmth she could feel from Petra.

“Bernadetta?”

She turned to see a head of bright blue hair. Caspar. His solemn demeanor was almost unnerving. With a weak smirk as an attempt at comfort, Caspar raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head.

“Yeah...I heard you were the one who found her. Thank you for saving her, Bernadetta.”

“Saving her? I barely did anything...all I could do was sit there and cry.”

“Linhardt said you healed her. If you hadn’t done that…”

“She would have been gone?” Bernadetta croaked. Caspar could only offer a shrug, his gaze dropping to the floor. Bernadetta continued, filling the uncomfortable silence, “Until now, I never thought...I never imagined that—”

“It could be one of us? Yeah, I know. Hell, I’ve seen you pretty roughed up and battered before, but that was nothing like this.”

“I’m not letting it happen again. I’m not letting anyone die,” Bernadetta uttered, a confidence in her tone that broke through the waver in her voice. Smiling, Caspar lowered himself to Bernadetta’s side and wrapped an arm around her. She went tense for a moment, but allowed herself to relax against his shoulder and return the gesture.

“You’re tough. I know you mean that when you say it.”

They sat together silently for a while, Bernadetta nearly falling asleep on his shoulder. Caspar roused her to inform her that he was going to get food, and invited her to join him. Her stomach rejected the thought of food, so she politely declined.

Once he left, the only sound in the room was each breath that Petra took. Bernadetta wondered, eliciting a pang in her chest that made her wince, if Petra was fighting to stay alive through her injuries. It was times like these that Bernadetta wished she had studied magic a bit more, if it had meant easing the suffering of someone so dear to her.

Resting her head beside Petra’s once more, the archer’s mind wandered. Memories began to stir: of her and Petra in the easier days. Back when they were students, and were comforted by an illusion of safety. Sure, Bernadetta had been pretty committed to her reclusive lifestyle, but there were times that she snuck out to visit places — places like the greenhouse.

In this moment, one particular memory of the greenhouse stood out to her. Petra had caught her admiring her favorites — the pitcher plants, which upon sight would instantly bring a smile to her face. Of course, Bernadetta had prepared herself to get defensive; but instead of calling her “weird” or something of the sort for her botanical preferences, Petra excitedly opened up to her about the plants native to Brigid. If there was something Bernadetta had known about Petra at that point in time, it was that the princess loved to talk about her homeland.

Bernadetta always found this hard to understand, especially when she could tell that through all the glee, there was a look of longing on Petra’s face whenever she spoke of Brigid. Petra was homesick, and that was something Bernadetta had never experienced — at least, not in the same way. Her only reason for wanting to return home was just so that she could hide away again, not because she wanted to be surrounded by her family and that which she had grown up with. There was no sense of belonging attached to home. “Belonging” had only developed in the presence of her fellow Black Eagles over the years.

Back when Bernadetta didn’t consider any place her home, Petra’s excitement seemed foreign and bizarre; but when Petra was so happily teaching her things about the plants Bernadetta admired, she felt a connection.

And then, just recently, she had been convinced to tag along with Petra and the Professor on their visit to Brigid. Once the initial disdain of being made to leave the comfort of the monastery had passed, Bernadetta realized that she had been given a chance to understand those emotions that the princess felt for her homeland. Petra shared with her that which she held dearest — what she was the most proud of. Bernadetta would never forget the look of pure joy on Petra’s face in response to Bernadetta’s own heartfelt gushing about the beauty of the land.

Bernadetta now longed to see the beauty of Brigid again; more than anything, though, she wanted to see that face again. The widest, warmest smile anyone had ever given her. Just thinking about it sent butterflies on a restless flutter through her stomach.

The stirring of the woman beside her snapped Bernadetta away from nostalgic comfort and back to reality. Jumping to sit upright, she watched Petra’s eyes open. The princess squinted, throwing a hand over her eyes to block out the light. Bernadetta, realizing she was holding her breath, exhaled slowly.

When Petra turned her head, their eyes locked, and Bernadetta felt her heart leap. Swallowing it back down along with her tears, she did her best to offer a smile.

“Bernadetta?” Petra asked, moving with the intention to sit up. Bernadetta eased her back down with the gentle touch of a hand. 

“Don’t. You might hurt yourself.”

Petra frowned. “Why are we here?”

“You don’t remember? Goddess, you...I found you, and I—”

Bernadetta brought a hand up to her mouth, unable to utter the rest.

“Whatever it was that occurred, Bernadetta, you are not needing to have to worry about anymore.”

“B-But, Petra, you almost died! When I found you, I was almost certain…” she trailed off once more, furiously wiping tears from her eyes; her hands and cheeks were still sticky from those that had preceded them.

“I am hoping you will give me forgiveness. Bernadetta, please look at me.”

With a shudder and a sniffle, Bernadetta dropped her hands to look Petra in the eye. Her gaze was soft, yet filled with guilt.

“It was you? The one who found me?” she asked. Bernadetta nodded vigorously, choking out an ugly sob. “I...thank you, Bernadetta. May I be making a request?”

With a curious frown, the archer nodded. The corner of Petra’s lip twitched upward.

“I would like to be holding your hand, but I cannot reach. Will you sit on my other side?”

“Yes...of course,” Bernadetta replied, getting up to walk around the bed. She wobbled a bit, since she had been sitting on her legs for a while. Settling back down by the bed, she placed her hand in Petra’s. The squeeze she received startled a squeak out of her, which made Petra giggle softly.

Blubbering through a sad, but loving smile, Bernadetta muttered, “Please don’t leave us. I was so scared.”

The lighthearted cheeriness soon disappeared from the princess’ face, clouded over by a pained look. Bernadetta’s breath hitched uncomfortably at the sight of Petra’s maroon eyes glistening with tears.

“I do not want to be leaving all of you. I am sorry.”

“Oh, Petra…”

Seeing Petra be the one to start sobbing seemed so wrong. Hell, Bernadetta found herself becoming flustered, unsure of how to handle it.

Cupping Petra’s cheek, she wiped away her tears with a thumb. It was rather clumsy, because her hands were jittering amidst her uncertainty. Her fingers and palms were covered in numerous salty smears by now, but she would always have that over the blood that so often haunted her.

“It hurts,” Petra murmured, leaning into Bernadetta’s touch.

“What?” the latter asked, panic rising in her voice.

“My arm. It is causing me great discomfort,” Petra laughed weakly. “I am not remembering what I did to injure it.”

“I...I think you might have fallen.”

“Fallen?” She blinked. Her brow furrowed as she strained to remember. “Ah, yes. I was feeling tired. I let my eyes close…”

Gasping, she shot upright, only to groan in agony. Bernadetta hurried to ease her back down on the bed.

“Please, be careful!” barked Bernadetta. The gaze that met hers reminded her of a sad puppy. The guilt seeped in, and she tensed her jaw.

“Is everyone else...are they alright?” Petra asked. She shifted and winced, still trying to get comfortable again.

“Uhm...yeah. Yeah, everyone is fine.”

“Then I am the only one who is b— who has been injured.”

“Ah, yeah…as far as I know.”

Petra sighed, letting her head roll to the side. She hissed something under her breath that Bernadetta was unable to understand. From the tone of her voice, Bernadetta concluded that it was likely something crude.

“I am sorry, Bernadetta,” Petra spoke, looking up at the other woman in shame, “For almost letting myself die. I...I should have been fighting it. It is my fault that you are having fear and sadness.”

“Why the hell are you apologizing to me?” Bernadetta asked, feeling tears spill from her eyes again and scorching her already swollen face.

“I am making you cry.”

“No, I…” Sniffling, Bernadetta found and squeezed Petra’s free hand. “I’m going to promise you something, Petra. I want you to hold me to it.” The princess frowned, indicating that she wanted to say something. She remained silent, instead waiting for Bernadetta to continue. “From now on, I’ll be at your side. I’ll protect you.”

“Bernie.” The use of the nickname made Bernadetta’s heart flutter. “Your words have sweetness, but please do not be putting your life in danger for mine.”

“Then what if I promise to stay alive, too?”

“Oh, Bernie,” chuckled Petra, once again sparking that sensation within the archer. Still, there was a sad overcast to the usual cheerfulness in her eyes. “Do not worry yourself with so many promises. How are you knowing you can keep them?”

“Brigid,” Bernadetta blurted. Her face went hot as Petra stared at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Brigid? I am not understanding…”

“I have to keep them. My promises, I mean. I have to protect you if you’re going to see your homeland again. And...I have to keep myself alive if I want to see it with you again, too, right?”

The words she uttered did more than any spell she could have. The weariness in Petra’s features seemed to vanish. Bernadetta swallowed to make sure her heart wasn’t jumping up her throat. That face — the one that she had longed to see again since that day they shared in Brigid — was once again lighting up the room.

“Really? You are wanting to come with me again to Brigid?”

“Y-Yeah. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was inviting myself—”

“I would be liking it greatly if you came home with me again, Bernadetta. I know how much you are liking the plants of Brigid.” Slipping her hand out of Bernadetta’s grip, Petra placed it under the other woman’s chin. Her thumb brushed lightly along her bottom lip. “I am remembering how much you were smiling. It had so much beauty.”

“P-Petra,” sputtered Bernadetta, unable to say much else as the temperature of her cheeks rose.

“I will be making a promise as well. If you are going to be coming with me to Brigid, that means I am having to protect you as well.”

“A-And stay alive! Don’t go dying on me! I can’t go through this again.”

“I promise, Bernie. How will I be making you my queen if I am not alive?”

“Sorry? Did you...did you say ‘queen’?”

“I did, yes,” Petra cooed, her face softening as Bernadetta herself practically melted. The latter leaned closer, the butterflies in her stomach going wild.

“Was...that wasn’t a proposal, was it?” she asked, nervous laughter bubbling up from her chest.

“Maybe.” A bashful pink hue rose to Petra’s face. Before she let her crippling self-doubt get in the way, Bernadetta leaned in to peck Petra on the cheek. She quickly pulled herself back and let an anxious hand drift upward to mess with her bangs.

“Before you make those kinds of bold decisions, please focus on having those wounds of yours heal.”

“You are right. I will be needing both of my arms to carry you to safety.”

“You what? P-Petra!” Her voice was approaching a volume typical of her moments of fluster. Bernadetta threw her hands over her face as Petra laughed. It was a bit strained, but that didn’t change how heartfelt it was.

“Bernadetta?” At the sound of her name, the archer peered through her parted fingers. “Thank you for being here with me.”


End file.
